


Hooked

by Anonymous



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2237424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-season four.</p><p>Mickey is trying his hardest to help Ian but sometimes when he's at his lowest it's hard, especially caring for Ian at his family's place and trying not to feel totally alienated there. Somehow Mickey finds himself fitting into the Gallagher clan and actually taking advice from them and maybe at the end of the day it's okay as long as Ian's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hooked

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for Shameless US! I really hope I got the voices of these guys right -- it's my first Gallavich fic. I'm no expert on bipolar, I've just seen whatever has been in the show, but I hope this seems consistent with it, and with how things might play out in the future if I had my way. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

Mickey had a whole new appreciation for the days when he couldn’t keep up with Ian. At least on those days he was smiling. He had a passion for life that he tried to pass on to Mickey and for some fucking reason Mickey actually _tried_ to share in his optimism. One day he’d even agreed to a run. As it turned out, running from the law was a hell of a lot different than running for recreation. Mickey was out of breath after the first mile and he had to beg Ian and bribe him with a blow job to get him to end the run instead of continuing for what could be another seven miles.

They’d splurged on coffee at some dive coffee shop and the whole time Mickey caught his breath and sipped at his coffee, Ian watched him fondly across the table.

If the run hadn’t worn Mickey out, the sex when they got home sure did.

Waking up each day was difficult for Mickey. He couldn’t take Ian’s happiness or optimism for granted. Each day was something new. Mickey always secretly hoped Ian would be all energetic and happy so he wouldn’t have to worry while he was away at work, because he fucking _hated_ worrying because who the fuck has those kinds of feelings anyway?

He hadn’t decided whether it was good or bad that he could already spot when Ian was going to have a good day or bad day. Reading his body language was easy after a while.

One particularly gloomy day in April Mickey woke up with Ian’s arm firmly wrapped around his shoulders. He closed his eyes and just breathed it in before letting the worry hit; Ian was always out of bed by this time when he’d have a good day.

He slowly rolled over, taking care to keep himself in Ian’s embrace. Still fast asleep, Ian shifted a little, his arm dropping to Mickey’s waist and pulling him closer. Mickey let him while he muttered _fuck_ because they’d never cuddled like this before and sure, nobody could see, but he felt like a fucking girl.

The rain pattered outside the window and Mickey couldn’t find it in him to roll out of bed or to ruin this moment, so he closed his eyes and resigned himself to it. His head found a pillow in Ian’s shoulder, and he relaxed against his chest.

Mickey dozed off, and when he woke again Ian had rolled over and soft sobs could be heard through the deafening silence of the room. Shockingly, the Gallagher household was empty, save for the two of them.

Days like these were always the hardest because _fuck_ if Ian didn’t rip Mickey’s heart to shreds whenever he cried. He fucking hated when anyone cried, but Ian especially because Ian was his _boyfriend_ and he wasn’t supposed to be hurting like this.

Usually Mickey left, made some coffee maybe, and said something to Ian like _if you need anything, I’ll get it for you_ but that tactic never worked.

Slowly Mickey turned the tables, hesitant because Ian could very well throw this back in his face or get more upset – he reached over to wrap himself around Ian, his front to Ian’s back and his arm draping around his waist. Ian sniffled and tensed, but he didn’t move otherwise.

“I’ve got you, Ian.”

The words didn’t even sound like they’d come out of his mouth, but Mickey surprised himself a lot when he was around Ian. It was like he wasn’t a total fucking prick, and he had a heart and a conscience after all. Mickey tended to ignore what all this _good boyfriend_ shit might mean in the long run. It didn’t matter unless Ian was okay.

Ian sniffled again, but gently he reached a hand up to cover Mickey’s where it held him around his waist, and Mickey winced as he heard more sobs.

And that’s how Mickey ended up spending most of his day. They got up for basic shit like to use the bathroom or in Mickey’s case, to make himself some food and set a sandwich by Ian’s side of the bed in case he got hungry, even though he never did.

That particular evening Fiona was working late and Lip had an exam, so for the first time Mickey was actually running the show. Usually Ian was well enough to do it, or Debbie would want to, but she was distracted by a school project and Carl didn’t give a fuck and he didn’t want to hear Fiona or Lip bitch about how he had to do more than just give cash every so often.

Carl was mindlessly staring at the TV and Debbie sat at the table studying, leaving Liam to play. As soon as Mickey stepped into the kitchen, little Liam was at his feet staring and asking for food. “Soon, kid,” he said, rifling through the cupboards and settling on spaghetti.

Mickey wasn’t a total idiot and he knew how to make a simple dinner, but it was a lot harder with a pesky toddler begging for food. “Here, you know what? You want food so bad you can fu—help me with it,” Mickey said with exasperation, barely remembering to censor himself.

He lifted Liam and sat him on the counter, warning him that the stovetop next to him was hot. Liam’s eyes lit up as Mickey handed him the spoon so he could stir the noodles as they boiled. At one point he even reached out to help him, his bigger tattooed hand covering Liam’s little one.

Mickey completely fucking ignored the snort he heard from Lip when he walked through the door. He also ignored Fiona’s bitching because _hey, at least I’m fucking making something_.

Fiona set the table, Lip poured milk, and they all sat down to eat the dinner Mickey made. The elephant of the room, Ian’s absence, wasn’t discussed at all. Mickey fucking hated it when they asked if _he_ was okay after everything Ian was going through. It wasn’t fucking about him, and it was about time they got that through their thick skulls.

After dinner everyone dispersed except Lip and Mickey, who were left to clean up the mess. “Bad day today, huh?” Lip asked as Mickey brought a few plates to the counter where Lip was washing them.

They locked eyes for a moment, Lip looking genuinely concerned and Mickey looking worse for wear. He’d never get used to these people actually giving a shit about him like he was a fucking person who deserved to think and feel for himself. “He hasn’t moved all day,” Mickey sighed after the tense pause.

“I’m sorry,” Lip replied.

Mickey stood there, trying to figure out what exactly Lip’s angle was. What the fuck was he getting at? Lip didn’t make a big deal out of it, and rather he continued washing dishes until Mickey got the hint to grab him the rest.

“Do you love him?”

Mickey would never, _ever_ get used to that question. Thinking about the answer wasn’t as difficult as it used to be, but seriously – who’s fucking business was it but theirs, anyway?

The table was cleared, Mickey was sat at the counter, and there was nowhere he could really go now that Lip finished cleaning the dishes and had turned to face him. Uneasily, Mickey’s eyes shifted from Lip to the counter until finally he snapped, “Yes, okay? Big fucking deal.”

“From what I hear, it _is_ a big fucking deal,” Lip shrugged. “You’ve been denying it for how many years now?”

“Look, man, I didn’t fucking say it as an invite for you to be a dick about it,” Mickey said defensively.

He looked so tense and stressed out, whereas Lip leaned against the counter, cigarette between his lips looking as casual as ever. “Would you fucking chill?” Lip said, a hint of hilarity in his voice. “I’m glad you can admit it finally because that’s what Ian needs to hear.”

“I can’t --,”

“You can admit it to me and not him? Work on that,” Lip advised. “I mean it. Sometimes that’s the only way we could get our mom to _move_ when she got like this.”

“This doesn’t mean we’re gonna run off and get married or anything.”

“Nobody asked you to.”

Mickey fixed Lip with an expression Lip had never seen before. _Fear_. “Look,” Lip said, his voice softer. “I can’t promise it’ll fix anything but if it’s how you feel, you should tell him. It’s not like he doesn’t feel the same, you two are like a fucking married couple already anyway.”

That made Mickey squirm in his seat. Had he really gotten all domestic with Ian without even realizing? He didn’t want to ask questions and he didn’t want to hear more, but a little part of him itched for more advice from Lip. In seconds, Lip was gone because of some homework shit, and Mickey was alone in the kitchen. Mickey went upstairs to check on Ian.

The room was still dark and dead silent, but he could see the gentle rise and fall of Ian’s shoulders and just like every time he returned after leaving Ian alone, Mickey was relieved that Ian hadn’t tried to hurt himself. Ian shifted when he heard the door close but he didn’t say a word, and Mickey shed his shirt and jeans without a word. Things were easier when he didn’t have to talk because then he didn’t fuck anything up.

Mickey slid under the covers to hold Ian just as he had that morning. Ian responded this time by covering Mickey’s arm with his own and lacing their fingers together.

“I’m sorry.”

Those words startled Mickey a little, his mind reeling as to the meaning of them. He wanted to move but Ian was actually responding when they were like this. Maybe it was the lack of eye contact, but whatever the fuck it was, Mickey was glad for it.

“The fuck d’you have to be sorry for?”

Mickey could have sworn he’d heard a hint of laughter in response. Ian couldn’t really put his thoughts into coherent words, not at first. Mickey waited, curiously, until Ian replied, “I’m a fucking mess.”

“Look,” Mickey sighed, “I didn’t go through all that shit with my dad and all these years of whatever the fuck that was just to ditch you when you fuckin’ need me, okay?”

It wasn’t much, but it was all Mickey could give him. Slowly, Ian rolled onto his back. His eyes were puffy and red and his cheeks had small streaks on them, still noticeable from when he’d been crying earlier. Ian was a fucking mess but Mickey _still_ found him attractive, the fucker. Their fingers stayed laced together and it was so fucking _intimate_ but Mickey couldn’t find it in himself to pull his hand away. When their eyes met, Mickey couldn’t stop himself from leaning in for a kiss. Ian melted into it like it’s all he needed to survive.

When they broke for air, Ian rolled back onto his side. He seemed to like that, being the little spoon and having Mickey made him feel cared about when he was so low. Mickey didn’t particularly mind, either. As Ian’s breathing slowed signaling that he was drifting off to sleep, Mickey whispered against his shoulder.

“I love you.”

Never had he thought he’d be the first to say it, but there it was. Mickey _fucking_ said it and now Ian could either mock him for it or say _something_ in return because the silence was fucking terrifying now. There was so much uneasiness, the air seemed so thick, and Mickey could hardly breathe because what if he’d just fucked things up?

Ian didn’t say anything and Mickey had half a mind to go punch Lip for the stupid fucking advice but even if he was angry and embarrassed, Mickey didn’t want to leave Ian’s side.

He wasn’t tired yet, but he’d hold Ian all night if he needed to, because fuck if he didn’t always have this stupid urge to lay in bed with Ian and hold him and do all that couple-y shit. Mickey’s breathing slowed as he relaxed, and he didn’t know if it was seconds, minutes, or even hours later when he heard Ian’s whisper.

“I love you too.”

And _yeah_ , that’s how it’s supposed to feel, the relief and happiness and the thought that you actually fucking matter to someone. That was new and unfamiliar to Mickey and he’d never admit it but he really liked the feeling – nearly as much as he liked Ian. He’d never planned on losing Ian after he got his head out of his ass about the whole being gay thing, but now he had even more motivation because _why would anyone ever fucking want to lose this feeling_? It was addicting. _Ian_ was addicting.

Mickey was hooked.


End file.
